


Hope's Prisoner

by hbomba



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: 6X3, Canon Lesbian Character, Canon Lesbian Relationship, F/F, Lesbian, Season/Series 05, Season/Series 06, bleed out, lesbian established relationship, post-ep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 01:27:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17736419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hbomba/pseuds/hbomba
Summary: Bridget’s hope waxes and wanes as Franky’s escape comes to fruition. S5/S6.





	Hope's Prisoner

**Author's Note:**

> TW: rape -- no graphic descriptions, just mention of the crime.

__

Hope is a waking dream.--Aristotle

__

Bridget always had hope. She was a positive person generally, she had to be in her line of work. When she met Franky, she recognized the dreamer beneath her angry exterior almost immediately and it was something that, as the anger started to fade away, became more and more apparent.

As Franky focused on her parole, her dreams became reality and Bridget counted herself among them. She was swept up in Franky Doyle--the woman and the inmate. After her release, they were disgustingly happy and together, carving out an odd little existence, hidden away from Wentworth and the rest of the world.

She was smitten and from what she could tell, Franky was too. But it wasn’t long before Franky was back in prison and hope seemed much too naive, even for Bridget. Franky had fired the best lawyer she could afford and pushed her away. She felt like a jealous ex, keeping tabs on her with reports from Vera but she didn’t know what else to do. She couldn’t give up--there was always hope.

But prison frustrated Franky, she was pushed her to her brink by Bridget and circumstance, and before she knew it, Bridget was facing down the brunt of Franky’s anger. She backed her against the wall, clawing at her clothes and groping her, Bridget fighting her off in a flurry, slapping and pushing her away roughly.

_“You wanted to push me away? You fuckin’ failed. You wanted to hurt me? Congratulations, baby.”_

She rushed out of the cell, not even bothering to hold her shirt together. She had to get away. Heart pounding against her ribcage, her breath came in short bursts, and tears welled up in her eyes as she leaned against the teal concrete wall covering herself. Franky didn’t know. How could she? Despite Bridget being privy to Franky’s deepest darkest secret, Bridget had never shared hers.

She was raped. It happened years ago and she never revisited those feelings, but there they were again, rising in her throat like bile. And in that moment it was fresh all over again. Bridget returned to her office, not stopping to talk or even greet the inmates as she passed. She felt like an empty beehive with a lonely bee buzzing around aimlessly inside. Sitting at her desk, she opened its drawer and retrieved a bottle of Xanax.

She took a pill from the bottle and swallowed it dry. In twenty minutes she was sitting in the lounge deflecting Vera’s concerned glances. She left early, skipped dinner, showered, and went to bed, wanting to wash the entire stink of the day off of herself. Bridget remained emotionally drained, and as each day passed, she found that hope was dwindling.

_“I’m not fucking Allie. I would not do that to you.”_

Bridget had believed her, and then she had fallen victim to Joan Ferguson’s cruel mind games--a clear sign that she was at her wits end--and when Franky didn’t reassure her, well, the last vestiges of her professionalism had failed her. It had been a long day already--she’d made an ass of herself with Allie Novak and she was petulant with Franky, she took a long, liquid lunch, got sauced and returned to work. She should have gone home from the restaurant but she went back to Wentworth--Franky was there, after all. And though her afternoon calendar was clear, she hadn’t counted on encountering Birdsworth in the hallway,

Irony was a cruel bitch. After her run in with Birdsworth, Bridget packed it in for the day, gathering her things and heading for the nearest exit. She blew past Vera on her way out and didn’t look back. She went home to her empty house and berated herself until the tears came. Even psychologists break down sometimes, she told herself. With all the coping strategies in her arsenal, drinking should have been the last one.

As darkness settled in, she still hadn’t turned on a light, nor eaten a crumb, but there was a bottle less in her wine cellar. And when she couldn’t stand her own company a minute longer and there was only one person she could trust with her secret, she reached for her phone.

She took a cab to Vera’s and stood on her doorstep for a full minute before she knocked. Vera was shocked to see her and Bridget, wrapped up in her own drama, had failed to read the signs before Jake interrupted them. Vera had become a very good friend and Bridget couldn’t help but to feel hurt that even she had not trusted Bridget with her secret. On a normal day she might’ve been able to shrug it off but with everything that had gone on with Franky, she was starting to take it personally. She heard her inner therapist telling her that she was in no state to settle on any one emotion while she was feeling so fragile.

She returned to her darkened home, bereft without Franky’s laughter, and cried herself to sleep. The next day she woke with a plan. She would resign. She would quit Franky once and for all because she couldn’t bear to be without Franky when she was right in front of her.

As she penned her resignation letter, she changed her mind a number of times, and when Franky walked in her office for the last time, Bridget had almost caved and shredded the letter on the spot. That puppy dog stare Franky had perfected never failed to manipulate her.

But today, with tears in her eyes, she had already accepted that no forlorn look designed to provoke empathy would change her path. Her heart broke into a million pieces when Franky blurted _“I fuckin’ love you!”_

Bridget had failed to prepare her for this. Hell, she’d failed to prepare herself.

When Franky phoned a few days later, Bridget tried to say no, she tried to direct her to her lawyer, but in the end Franky would not be denied. Again just out of arm’s reach, she sat across from Bridget, tattoos ablaze on her arms, turquoise tank top showing off her time honored assets. Franky’s smile was effusive, lighting up the whole room when she set eyes on Bridget and she felt her love as loud as if she’d used a bullhorn. So it was no surprise that she’d do Franky yet another favor that could’ve ended her career.

Bridget was learning she was rather good at being bad. Franky had that effect on her, it seemed. The very next day she was back at the prison, every hair in place for her visitation with Franky. She wanted to reach out and touch her, but Franky remained a mirage behind an invisible barrier that Bridget couldn’t breach.

_“I could get used to seeing you every day.”_

_“I couldn’t. Not after what we had.”_

The little smiles they shared with one another healed some of the hurt in her heart. She had hope again. It was a tiny notion of hope, but it was there, growing each time she thought of Franky. Her hands were inches from Franky’s on the table. She could just reach out and hold her hand if she weren’t such a coward. Instead, Bridget memorized her--the hair that fell haphazardly about her face, her smokey eyes, puppy dog eyebrows, and those dimples. Her favorite face burned into her brain, she left Wentworth feeling emptier still.

She spent the following week feeling sorry for herself but by the end of it she’d set up a job interview and refocused her energy. Love had softened her edges, and she felt weaker for it, but Bridget knew that the opposite was true. When she saw Franky standing across the street, arms spread, telegraphing a long distance hug, her heart actually skipped a beat.

_“I love you!”_ she had shouted into the night. _“And I’ll be back.”_

Bridget fretted as the evening news reported Franky’s and Ferguson’s escape but she was grateful for Franky’s appearance from the ether. It would have to hold her over for days. Her drinking hadn’t eased up since she left Wentworth, in fact, wine had been a crucial guest at her weeklong pity party. One night, when she had drank her dinner Bridget misjudged the step on her porch and took a tumble.

She found herself in the flowerbed, an awful pain in her leg. It was unbecoming of a lady, a psychologist, and a pisspot and the new cast and crutches were all the motivation she needed to clean up her act.

Sidelined from her new job by her injury, Bridget was home watching the news obsessively when Franky let herself in. Franky’s arms wrapped around the blonde and hugged the life back into her. A million questions clouded her thoughts. It had been days since her escape and her safety was what Bridget worried about the most. It was ridiculous. She’d seen Franky protect herself in Wentworth and she was sure she was fine on the outside, but Bridget wasn’t satisfied until she saw Franky in her hallway.

_“Gidge, what the fuck happened?”_

There was no good time to recount the consequences of her drinking, but she was sure that that particular moment was certainly not the right time so she told a half-truth. They had only mere moments before the police were knocking at her door and Franky was escaping out the back.

She slouched in the hallway, looking out the back door, wondering how on earth Franky was going to accomplish her mission to clear her name and that kernel of hope ebbed again in her stomach. Franky was innocent. She believed her. Franky’s history of lying by omission was worrying to Bridget but she loved her and accepted her need to feel like Bridget’s protector, however unnecessary.

Franky had taken her role as a protector seriously at Wentworth. She was fiercely loyal but also handcuffed by the politics of prison. When the rumors about them started, she shared a pained look with Franky but she knew there was little Franky could do without confirming her own feelings for Bridget.  As it was, the slightest whiff of impropriety had brought Vera’s attention upon her and then the real shitstorm began.

She secretly wished they did have a torrid affair during that time. After all, she was railroaded out of her job with no evidence. A handhold in the hallway and a private moment in the library stacks were what amounted to probable cause. But truth be told, she had made her mind up about Franky months prior to her parole.

What she didn’t know that is it wouldn’t just be a one night stand or a fling. Franky had fallen for her, too, and her love was overwhelming at times. Bridget had awakened a part of Franky that had long lay dormant due to use or abuse. They were in love and Bridget felt hope burning in her chest like a hot coal.

So when she got the call that Franky needed her, Bridget was hobbling toward her car without thought for anyone’s safety but Franky’s. She pushed into the service station’s bathroom to find Franky on the floor in a bloody mess, and she instantly felt sick. Stumbling to her car with Franky leaning on her heavily, the terror of the situation set in.

As the sirens blared past them Bridget swore to herself. “Fuck.” She felt like she was driving into oblivion. She had no clue where they were headed, but she drove obediently as Franky directed her blindly. Somehow they found their way to the train yard, full of graffiti and piss-soaked rail cars.

In the train yard, she sat in the car with Franky bleeding out in the back seat. What the fuck had she gotten herself into? On the surface she was in control of her emotions, but simmering just beneath it she was a fucking mess. She struggled to get herself and Franky out of the car, and with much effort, managed to climb into what had been Franky’s homebase for the past few days, all the while wondering if she was leading Franky to the place she’d die. Her coal of hope was fading fast.

_“Stay with me.”_

She could feel Franky smiling against her neck and she thought it remarkable that Franky could still find comfort in her embrace with an oozing wound in her shoulder. Bridget held her for what felt like hours. There was so much to say and yet Bridget found herself without the words.

When night had fallen and Franky had drifted off, she slipped away to her car and sped home for supplies. Stumbling into her house, she moved quickly--as quickly as she could with a bum leg and a cane--and turned her bathroom over for supplies. She filled her bag with pain killers, antibiotics and gauze and hoped it would be enough. She grabbed a few bottles of water from the fridge, clothes from the bedroom and rushed back to her car.

She knew the police were following her so she drove around the city streets for an hour before she was satisfied she had shaken them and returned to the train yard. When the sirens came for them, Bridget struggled to get back to Franky. She knew she’d be afraid, waking up alone, and Bridget felt guilty for leaving in the first place. If Franky was caught now it would be due to Bridget’s own daftness and just the thought of seeing Franky in cuffs again made her heart ache.

When they found each other in the dark, clinging together in relief and love, Bridget made her decision then and there to help Franky till the bitter end--whatever that might be.

_“I’d rather die than go back inside.”_

Bridget swallowed her heart which had become lodged in her throat, a lump that would not go away so easily, and she fought the urge to fight Franky for her life. But she knew how hard-headed Franky was and, even with a bloody bullet in her shoulder, she would refuse help.

Sitting on cardboard, laps covered in a sleeping bag, the women huddled together again. Franky was cold and paler still and the psychologist tried to hold off fear at the thought of losing her, but that kernel of hope was getting smaller by the minute.

Franky wasn’t a cuddler but she kept close to Bridget, and while her nearness always made Bridget happy, she was once again terrified by what it meant.

_“I’ve had a great time with you, Gidge.”_ Her green eyes sparkled in the darkness.

_“Don’t you quit on me.”_ Bridget choked back tears.

True to form, Franky never gave up. Because of that, Bridget was obliged to continue on the roller coaster with her, putting herself and her career in danger. She wasn’t being dramatic when she decided that nothing mattered if she didn’t have Franky, but she was in love and Bridget had never been rational when love was involved.

It had been a long time since she felt that spark with another woman, and before Franky it had been different but no less urgent. Bridget was one-hundred-percent-all-in when it came to love. It wasn’t a common feeling for her, but she had felt something like it a time or two before Franky. Granted, Franky was different in every way from her former lovers and so was their love.

Sitting at her bedside, waiting for Franky to wake up was excruciating. There were no complications during her surgery, but she was slow to come out of the anesthesia and Bridget was anxious to see those green eyes open. She supposed it would be too much to wish for that she’d get to see her smile with the police still posted at the door, but that steady burn of hope still stewed in the pit of her stomach.

And when the handcuffs were being unlocked and unabashed joy washed over Franky’s features, Bridget could barely contain her excitement, bouncing in her seat.

_“It’s over, baby.”_ Bridget smiled, choking back a week of tears.

Franky laughed, wiping her tears away with her bare palm as Bridget reached into her purse for tissue to blot her own eyes. She was free and alive and every risk Bridget had taken to be with Franky had been worth it.

“How does it feel to cheat death?” Bridget held her hand with both of hers.

Franky grinned and her tongue traced her lower lip before she spoke. “It bloody hurts.” A side-eyed glance at Bridget and Franky laughed--she was positively punchy. “When can we go home?”

Bridget smiled and squeezed her hand. “Let’s see what the doctor says.”

“I’m fine. I’m ready. I want to sleep in our bed, Gidge.” Franky tried to sit up and winced at the movement.

“Frankyyy,” Bridget matched Franky’s pained expression and lurched forward to put a hand on her other shoulder, stopping her from moving further. “Let’s just wait and see.”

“I survived three days with that bullet in my shoulder, Gidge.”

“Right. And you’ve got nothing more to prove. You’re free.”

Franky sighed and puffed out her cheeks, looking around the shared hospital room. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

Bridget smiled at her obstinance, Franky hadn’t lost any of her spunk through the ordeal. “Maybe they’ll let you go for a spin in a wheelchair. Get some fresh air, yeah?”

“Yeah, I guess.” She pulled at the blanket. Pushing her head back into her pillow, Franky sighed.

“Baby, you just had a major surgery. Give it a minute.”

Franky wasn’t an open book by any stretch of the imaginations, but Bridget knew her chapters very well and Impatience was at the front of her proverbial book. She smoothed the hair on the brunette’s head, leaning over the hospital bed rail to kiss her. Franky’s eyes smiled up at up when she pulled away.

“I want my life back, Gidge.”

Bridget nodded sympathetically and caressed the younger woman’s cheek with the back of her hand, gentle and steady. “You’ve got it, kid.” The psychologist used her best encouraging tone and she meant it. She wasn’t putting a shine on it for her, she believed in Franky and her strength to persevere in any situation, especially after watching her navigate her escape.

What she did was incredibly stupid but only a brave person could have managed to get as far as Franky before she was caught. Bridget, however, didn’t have the constitution for it. She had lied to Vera--used her, even--and she felt awful for it. Never once did she think she would go on the lam with an escaped prisoner she was having a love affair with.

But she did.

“Hey?” Franky prodded her. “What ya thinkin’ ‘bout?”

She shook her head, a sly smile creeping across her face. “You,” she said simply.

Franky’s green eyes sparkled at the insinuation. “Anything good?”

Bridget chuckled quietly. “Always.”

Dimples creased her cheeks as she reached for Bridget. “Thank you,” she said with an expectant stare.

She looked at the floor, shaking her head again. “You would have done for me.”

Franky laughed. “Like you would’ve needed it done, Gidge.” Her voice was, like Franky, a little too loud for the hospital.

Bridget hushed her. “I love you, Franky. What did you expect?”

Franky looked at her seriously. “Well, my track record’s not been the greatest.” The corner of her mouth pulled upwards.

They shared a smile for a long moment and Bridget felt hope return, burning inside her gut like a supernova. Franky stifled a yawn. “You should get some rest.” Bridget kissed her temple.

Franky nodded and sighed. Bridget would be there when she woke, her relieved smile telling the tale of their adventure. It had been a hard road for their unusual relationship but they were on the edge of freedom. Together. And love had changed them both. Away from the fishbowl of prison, they were free to love each other openly and that was liberation of the best kind.


End file.
